


A Throne, A Blue Ring, and Some (Occasional) Angel Wings

by livixbobbiex



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Anal Sex, Angel Castiel, Blood Magic, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Horses, Human Castiel, Human Gabriel, King Gabriel, Kings & Queens, Knight Dean, Knight Sam, M/M, Marking, Moondoor (Supernatural), Multi, Prince Castiel, Princess Anna, Prostitution, Purgatory, Recreational Drug Use, Supernatural Elements, Team Free Will, War, because lube didn't exist, lack of female rights, sex without lube
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-02 23:59:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4078915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livixbobbiex/pseuds/livixbobbiex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House Aegra of Eden have been at war with Purgatory for fifteen years after Lucifer tricked and  <br/>slaughtered (most) of Castiel's family with the goal of the throne. At a crucial time in the war, Gabriel has to leave Castiel in command of the throne and the Kingdom of Eden. The problem? Castiel never wanted to be King in the first place, and with opposition to the Crown blooming like chaos from every direction, he's in for a tougher job than he ever realised possible.</p><p>Ever since being captured by Eden's forces eight years ago, all Dean's done is try to prove himself as loyal so he can go back home and find his brother who was stolen as a child. After accidentally saving the Crown Prince's life, he finally has his shot! Alas, he was only meant to be a guard, he never meant to start actually liking the guy! </p><p>(If you enjoy things like Game of Thrones, BBC Merlin, Lord of the Rings etc., this fic might be to your taste!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Castiel i

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by the lovely Amanda Nilsson

**_Castiel_ **

**_Ol bolape a noco de elo  
I am the servant of God_ **

“I’m bored,” Castiel whined in his seat. He was seven summers now and deemed old enough to attend formal events. This was not a privilege Castiel enjoyed. In fact, he’d much rather be running around outside with the other native children of Purgatory. Though, they were playing knights, and Castiel had had enough of knights for a while. As the youngest son to the King and Queen of Eden, he would be expected to become a knight someday, or to be married off to some nobleman’s daughter. Of course at seven Castiel didn’t really understand all this, they were just words, but he still found them swirling around his thoughts.

His mother, Naomi, shushed him in Enochian, the ancient language of Eden. They didn’t speak it outside the gates of the city, and even natives had mostly abandoned the language for the much simpler Common Tongue. Still, Castiel was made to take lessons daily. In fact, he should be thankful for this whole event.

“Light of my life,” he heard his brother Lucifer (the second eldest) say to Lilith, his new bride (who giggled at the sound). Castiel had recited all the proper names the week before, and his recent education had been almost entirely focused on politics. _Olapireta de en malpirgi_ , Castiel mouthed the words, determined to have Enochian roll off his tongue naturally one day. Currently, he found the harsh sounds too tough to produce correctly.

Lucifer swung his new wife to and fro like they were made purely from air. Castiel was glad he was yet to begin dancing lessons. Michael and Gabriel, who were old enough to have proper dance partners, were also gliding along the smooth floor. It was as if they were flying. Castiel adored the old legends, even if they _were_ just bed time stories, that the first King and Queen of Eden were angels from Heaven themselves, commanded down to Earth to rule over men where the Holy Father could not.

Castiel shifted in the dark wood seat, unable to get comfortable. There was a buzzing in his ears, an itch in his back (though that may have been from the ridiculous clothes). A shiver ran down his spine from the breeze, and he wondered if this castle was older than home. He decided then and there that he _hated_ Purgatory. It all felt so wrong and different from home. He hated that Lucifer would have to live here now because Lord Azazel was sonless, although they didn’t speak much he was still his brother.

“Mama,” he said in Enochian. “Can I get down from the table?”

“Stay where I can see you,” she replied. She was probably tired, from the sounds of it. Castiel stood up, a lot shorter than his height had appeared from the chair, and wrapped his arms around her legs. Pressing a swift kiss to her knee, he ventured off the platform with the long dinner table (set up for the royal family) and into the unknown, trying to avoid being smacked by a lady’s dress.

Of course, Castiel didn’t listen to his mother and managed to find himself lost in just a few short moments. Too many people were swirling around him and it was making him dizzy. Castiel was rarely clumsy, and so managed to avoid tripping. He did, though, end up making his way to the wall, a clever strategy (for a child his age, anyway). Directly in front of his eyes, now outside of the mass of people, was the tall and looming door out of the great hall. Everything was so dark in this place, all greys and blacks and sometimes a bit of dark red here and there. Eden, meanwhile, was full of warm and bright colours like the outside. Maybe he would be allowed some air, after all.

Something else quickly caught his attention. In Eden, at least, guards wouldn’t dress like they’re ready to go to battle. “Why are you wearing chainmail?” He said in the Common Tongue, attempting to mask his heavy Edenish accent. He said ‘chainmail’ slowly, hopping he’d got it correct. He’d only just learnt the word.

“What’s it to you, _little_ _prince_?” The man drew out the last word, not that Castiel particularly noticed.

“They don’t wear that in Eden. Not for weddings is all.”

“Well, kid, you’re not Eden anymore.”

Castiel pressed his lips together. He wanted to press the guards more, not liking the way they’d spoken to him, but his mother had warned him against his curiosity many times. Castiel did not want to be punished by Naomi. She was his mother and he loved her, but she terrified him sometimes. He still wanted to go outside, but these guards really weren’t friendly like he was used to. Frustrated, Castiel made his way to the room’s only window, staring wistfully at the grass. Even that, though, was the wrong colour, a much darker shade, here.

He almost missed the chime of Lucifer’s knife tapping against the glass. He’d learnt about this, the groom always gave a speech at a wedding. The attention in the room shifted and Lucifer smiled wider than Castiel had ever seen him. Then again, Lucifer never seemed to regard Castiel as anything but annoying. He spoke in the Common Tongue, somehow freeing himself altogether of the typical Edenish accent. It was a skill Castiel wanted desperately to learn. The words were too long and complicated for Castiel’s attention span, so he looked around.

The guards from the door, and many other around the room, had changed their position outside the circle of guests. Maybe they were interested, too! That thought was more comforting to Castiel, that maybe they weren’t so different here after all. Maybe home could wait.

They were so fast. Lucifer raised his cup and Hell opened. Castiel had witnessed plenty of fights, having snuck around the castle (though he was mostly _made_ to by his brothers). But that was only between the knights and Castiel had come to learn that their fighting didn’t count, it was a show of affection. He hadn’t seen that much blood either. Raphael had a nose bleed once, he remembered. He usually had small scrapes all over his arms and knees from playing and climbing and running around the castle.

Castiel recognised the guard he’d spoken to stab a lady right through the throat. Her blood seemed to explode down the back of her neck, staining her dress with thick, glistening red. Screams and pandemonium replaced the joy of the room. Castiel’s breathing was laboured and heavy. He stood there shaking, he had absolutely no idea what to do. Of course, nobody really brought a sword to a wedding. His family was defenceless. Out of the crowd, he saw Lucifer standing in the same position, glass raised. He seemed to meet eyes with Castiel, smirk, and drank the ruby red wine. All at once, Castiel wished he was drinking poison in that glass. His eyes burned like storms with anger and betrayal.

The sound of glass smashing snapped Castiel out of it. He began to sob as he felt arms close around him briefly, only to be thrown out of the window. Everything hurt, especially his forearm. “ _Beranusaji_!” He cried out until his throat was hoarse. _Mother_. _Mama_. Castiel stared up into the night sky, fully expecting to die, watching the stars melt away as he closed his eyes.

* * *

 

Castiel jerked upright to the dreadful clanging of bells and found himself drenched in cold sweat. Although his chambers were essentially just a tower, as far away from civilisation as the castle would allow, he felt vibrations even in his bed – as he did every morning in fact. How _strange_ , he had not dreamt of that day for almost eight winters. Now going into his twenty second summer, Castiel had not opted for the larger chambers he was entitled to (as second in line for the throne of Eden), this place had been _his_ since he left the nursery.

His chambers weren’t anything special. Not that Cas ever really left Eden for long enough to check, so he only really had Gabriel’s to compare it with, and he was the King. He, too, had kept his old chambers. Neither of them wanted to sleep in the bed of their dead siblings or parents. Because of its location, Castiel’s bedroom was circular, his bed directly opposite the entrance to the spiral staircase.

The servant girls would show up within the hour, despite Castiel’s numerous protests. He pulled himself out of his warm bed, legs as heavy as steel from the previous day’s activities of training. Castiel never made his bed, he didn’t think it was all that important. Still, any books left lying around (only science, history or legends, Castiel didn’t have a taste for fiction), or clothes on the floor somehow ended up immaculately placed back where they’d originally come from. At least he could dress himself! He wore a soft and light material, cream shirt and loose brown trousers, because it was seen as generally more respectful to not ‘dress up’ for the service.

Castiel lazily made his way down the staircase. They had a day off every New Moon. Under Gabriel’s rule, they celebrated the day, but traditionally the day was one of solemn worship for The Four. Castiel ignored his breakfast, left on the wooden table in the far corner of the larger of the two rooms on the second floor. Though, he noticed there was more on his plate than usual, at least five spoonfuls more of sugar than he’d normally be given. No, he’d much rather spend his small amount of free time in his garden. Gabriel could tease him all he liked, but the garden would always be _Castiel’s_. Besides, he was more than happy to keep the bees for their sweet honey.

He managed to leave the castle building without coming across anybody other than guards and servants. The gardens outside were almost as large as the castle itself, and were highly maintained. Castiel’s, though, was much smaller and on the very edge of the hill, where sometimes on a clear day he swore he could see out even further than the kingdom. He sat on his regular granite bench (just outside the tiny pavilion), which was uncomfortably cold due to the earliness of the morning. Castiel closed his eyes and inhaled the sweet perfume of the flowers surrounding him. A small honey bee flew past and around his ears in a circle. He liked to watch the bees, and admired how simple their lives were.

“Cassie! Long time no see!” Castiel’s eyes snapped open to meet the face of Balthazar, son or Lord Xavier, who had actually come for the ball for once. Not that they always had a ball, but this was special because it was the first New Moon Day of summer. Balthazar would never miss a good party, he was already dressed for it in one of his ridiculously low cut shirts. Castiel felt a wave of relief rush over him, it felt like it had been seasons since he’d heard his friend’s smooth Common Tongue accent.

Castiel smiled from ear to ear. “You haven’t come here for New Moon Day since last winter.”

Balthazar chuckled and sat down beside him. “Well, _princess_ , I was busy.”

Castiel squinted. “With what?”

“Oh, you know,” he leant back, “drinking and dancing and women. Especially the women. Cassie, there was this one who-“

Castiel felt his cheeks begin to flush. “Can we not talk about such things in that much detail?”

He rolled his eyes. “Just because you like to pretend you’re wearing a chastity belt...”

“And how many bastards have _you_ unwittingly fathered?” Castiel snapped. Balthazar gave him an odd look. He was even taken aback at his own outburst, he usually kept out of commenting on other people’s life styles. “I... apologise. I’ve been stressed this morning.”

“You act so... elderly. You’re not even married yet! This is your time to live!” Balthazar exclaimed. Castiel didn’t reply. “...Princess?”

“They’ve started again,” he admitted, “the nightmares I thought were gone.”

“Cassie-“ Balthazar was cut off by the deafening bells. “I’ll see you later, okay?” He looked like he wanted to say something else, but kept his mouth shut and turned away.  

Again, Castiel didn’t reply and watched his only friend walk away. He didn’t need to leave. As Prince of Eden, he would only be required at the service after every regular citizen was seated. It was a policy of Gabriel’s he very much admired. For worship, he, Gabriel and Anna weren’t royalty at all, and they sat among commoners.

It was a secret desire of Castiel’s, to be normal. Castiel the Person wouldn’t have had most of his family brutally slaughtered. Castiel the Person wouldn’t be trying to win a war against his own brother. Unfortunately, Castiel was a prince, and Castiel the Prince couldn’t dream of being a person. He was even surprised, now Balthazar mentioned it, that he hadn’t been made to marry yet. Not that Gabriel would force him to do anything against his will, but he wasn’t selfish enough to refuse. The bells at the top of the Temple of the Day were stuck once more.

The city was essentially just a very large hill. The Temple of the Day was the only structure on the very top of the hill, reaching way out to the western skies. Because it was built up the hill from the ground, it was easily the tallest structure in the known world. The part at the top was built around a natural water spring which quenched the city, and also had the bells. When the city was founded the hill was built and shaped into five levels with stone. The second was for the most religious who devoted their lives to the gods, and for the elders who had no family to take care of them. The third was where the castle was located, the fourth housed the richer residents and the fifth was the ground. It was full of taverns and brothels and noise. Castiel usually avoided anywhere but the central street leading to the gate if he went down to that level. The Temple of the Night was also located modestly on ground level.

The Temple of the Night was said to have been the first building erected in Eden. It was simple, too, with only one room. Although it stood taller than the houses in its vicinity, it wasn’t a large building, unlike the Temple of the Day, which reached right out to touch the sun. Castiel did straighten his shirt, but he was dressed simply. The fancy, confining clothes would come later. He removed his boots out of respect for the Four, sitting himself down next to Gabriel near the back as the priest began to speak.

Because so few people spoke Enochian fluently (after all it was an incredibly complicated language), not many in the temple actually understood the priest. It was a beautiful legend, Castiel thought. Once, there was no light in the world. The gods and goddess’ knew there was a problem when Hael the Gentle, keeper of all vegetation, discovered that no life could thrive in the eternal dark. They fused their power together to create a ball of pure light and energy. Heaven rejoiced, for finally life could begin. Four brothers had sacrificed more of their power than the others, and so they were fading, no longer able to fulfil their purpose. Another problem was that the world was made round like a ball, and the sun could not shine everywhere at once. A solution was found when the rest of the gods combined two and two, the generous gods would become The Four Brothers of Day, passing the son to one another so that ‘day’ and ‘night’ were created.

Four of their sisters, however, grew jealous. They created all kinds of unspeakable evil in secret to plague the gods’ proudest creature – humans. When they were discovered, their punishment was to control their creation by restricting their territory to the night. They were also made to carry a giant rock between them that reflected the light of the sun, which they were never to lay their eyes upon again. The moon began as full, but as they grew tired, their grasp began to slip. Eventually, it turned all the way and there was no bright beacon that used to give humans hope in the darkness. Guilty for their actions, and for harming the humans, the Four Sisters of Night found the strength to turn the giant rock around, the moon, and begin again. Humanity and the other gods had forgiven them, and they were worshiped as a symbol of hope. Every moon cycle, humanity was to pray that they find the strength to make the moon whole again.

The story was more poetic in Enochian, but its morals remained the same. Accept your punishment, always carry on with it, no matter how hard the going gets, and maybe one day you too will be forgiven for your sins and even thanked.

The congregation said together a short prayer in Enochian and were dismissed. Castiel had been too young to properly remember the old traditions, but now at least it was all parties. Although the ball was not for commoners, most would have their own celebrations. Castiel was dreading it. He couldn’t glide like everyone else, he could only shuffle and place his arms awkwardly around the many faceless women who would compliment him in their fake honey voices.

“Brother dearest!” Gabriel called out the moment they stepped inside the castle. “I have things to discuss with you!”

Castiel paled. “Like what? Couldn’t you ask Zachariah?” Zachariah was the royal advisor who supported Gabriel until he had come of age. As much as Castiel didn’t like him, he’d won Eden many of their battles against Purgatory. Lucifer hadn’t anticipated that anybody in that grand hall that day would escape, he’d assumed he’d be able to walk straight up to the throne without opposition.

“Unfortunately, baby bro, this is between you and me.” Gabriel threw an arm around Castiel’s shoulders.

Beside them Anna, now thirteen summers old, pouted. “But you guys promised to hang out with me today!”

Castiel smiled. “Why don’t you go outside and show off how well you can dance?” He pressed a kiss onto her forehead before she could run off. “What, Gabriel?”

His older brother opened the doors to his rooms. They were less barren than Castiel’s, and were covered in the kingdom’s finest materials. Castiel wrinkled his nose at the sight of female undergarments strewn over the table. Just like Balthazar, Gabriel was not shy about his sexual conquests. Gabriel picked up the scanty clothing, shrugged, and tossed them aside.

“Cassie, I need to speak to you as a king, not as a brother.”

Castiel swallowed. “Nothing bad has happened?”

“No!” Gabriel hastily confirmed. “Castiel, you know we’re not going to win this war like this. Lucifer is making all kinds of alliances, many lords are joining his side. We need to do the same.”

He suddenly caught on. “You want me to... leave Eden?”

Gabriel shook his head. “No, baby bro, I don’t think you could sway them like I need. No, we’ll have more of a chance if I go myself.”

Castiel must have visibly paled. “You’re going to leave _me_ in charge of Eden?!”

“I’m so glad you’re okay with this!”

“Gabriel!”

“Cassie!”

“I cannot run a kingdom,” Castiel practically hissed. “I’m useless!”

“Bitch please,” Gabriel said, which warmed Castiel’s heart just a little. “I’ve seen you strategise. You knocked Zach right on his ass just last cycle! I’ll only be gone for two New Moon Days at most. You’ll be _fine_ , even you can’t fuck this up.”

Castiel ruthlessly read over the scroll. “You’re giving me absolute powers until you return to Eden.”

Gabriel shrugged. “You might need them. Come oooon Cassie. Would you rather I left Zach in charge?”

Castiel practically shuddered at the idea. “Alright.”

“Sweet!” Gabriel downed some kind of sweet, exotic fruit that was probably more expensive than a house. “I’m leaving tomorrow before dawn! Now get out of here so I can party!”

“Gabriel!” If it wasn’t high treason, Castiel might have murdered him.

 


	2. Dean i

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by the lovely Amanda Nilsson

**_Dean_ **

“Dean Winchester ya idjit get down here!” Bobby called out. “Or I’m goin’ without ya.”

Dean smoothed down the fabric of his shirt. It was scratchy and tight and he didn’t like it, but he couldn’t wear his normal clothes, which were all singed slightly at the edges or ripped or dirty. It was a disadvantage of working in a blacksmith. He usually reserved these for when he felt like getting a classier attention. Dean looked sentimentally upon his small and untidy room. If everything went according to plan, he wouldn’t be seeing it again. It was nothing special, just a small room that was technically the roof with a shitty bed and a chest of draws. At least it was the warmest bedroom in the village during the winter season, due to its location being directly above Bobby’s big ass fire.

“What’s the rush?” He walked down the stairs, instantly feeling hot from the workshop. The place was permanently busy, especially with the war against home going on.   

“Did ya hear the news?” Bobby wiped sweat from his forehead. The guy was pretty old to still be a working man. Dean felt guilty about that, he had undeniably been a burden to the old man for the last eight years, though he helped the heavy demand wherever he could.

Dean shrugged. “What news? Why would I know anything?”

“The amount of time you spend in taverns, boy, thought ya woulda heard something. The King has left Eden.”

Dean pulled a face. He’d been ready, so close to actually going home! “Did he say when he would be coming back?” Though he knew Bobby wouldn’t have the answer, he couldn’t help his hope slipping through.

Bobby shrugged. “His kid brother is taking his place today.”

He remembered. “Prince Castiel?”

Bobby gave him one of his infamous looks. “How d’ya know him?”

“I don’t,” Dean said. _Lie_ (At least in part, anyway). “I just spend a lot of time in taverns.”

“...Sure.”

Dean stretched his arms up, and heard a ripping sound in horror. “I just washed this!” When he looked the tear, thankfully, wasn’t really noticeable. “Let’s go then, my baby hasn’t had any exercise for a while.”

It was absolute fact that Impala was the most beautiful black mare in the known world. She used to belong to Dean’s father, John, but when Dean was captured and taken into Eden, he’d been riding her, so Impala came with him. She was said to have come all the way from the remote western lands, a breed only found in Moondoor. Dean patted her neck gently. She was getting old now, but she was still no less brilliant than the day he’d first ridden her. His drinking buddies at the tavern constantly made jokes about him loving his horse _too much_ , but Dean shrugged them off. He loved his baby shamelessly.

Dean mounted her bareback, since they wouldn’t need to ride far. “Now who’s being slow?” He called out to Bobby, riding right up to the guild’s entrance.

Bobby leant in the door frame. “I’ve been thinkin’.”

Dean let his eyes fall the ground. “You’re not coming with me.”

The older man sighed. “I don’t care what ya say, when ya came here ya were just a kid. Ride into Eden as a man, go be a hero and see home again.” He smiled. “Here, ya dropped this the first time ya walked in this place.” He dropped a little golden amulet with a face etched into its surface into his hand. “I fixed it up a little, tied it onto a leather chain so ya won’t lose it again.”

He _almost_ felt the promising sting of tears in his eyes. “I thought I’d never see it again.”

Bobby grinned. “I’m gonna miss ya boy, but don’t ya dare come back here, understand? Now get!”

Dean laughed and began to ride away. The blacksmith he called home was only in the closest village to the main city of Eden. The castle looked frighteningly tall from its position on the hill, especially from his perspective below. He’d only been inside of it once before, and he found, after tying Imapla up and making the long walk up the hill, the throne room hadn’t changed much from what he remembered. It was larger than three houses in the small village of Sioux Falls, but if the people had been taken away it, it would have felt cold and empty.

It was no secret that Dean had little knowledge of court. Ash, the owner of his favourite tavern, had laughed in his face when he said is goodbye. He didn’t see the point of titles and fifteen different types of spoons, but that wasn’t why he was here. There was a long line leading to the throne, and Dean would be damned if he didn’t get his shot.

He even managed to ignore the incredibly dumb music coming from the lyre players until he was second in line. More distracting still was the haunting voice coming from the throne. From the few times he’d heard the King speak, Dean knew his Common Tongue was impeccable and his accent was neutral. Prince _Castiel_ , it seemed, was not so good at masking his Enochian voice (and damn him that was a _great_ voice). He sounded pleased that the woman at the front of the line was speaking his language too. Dean couldn’t speak Enochian properly (even some natives found it difficult), so he didn’t understand much of the conversation, aside from catching the word ‘goat’ every now and again.

The elderly woman was sobbing with what appeared to be joy, so Dean assumed it had been good news. _He was next._ The Prince seemed unaware that Dean was standing there, deep in conversation with the royal advisor guy Dean had occasionally seen wandering around the city. His name was Zach or something. Zach sounded pissed off, though it was hard to tell in Enochian’s mouthy language. Dean grinned when he heard a few words he _did_ know coming from the prince’s mouth: _niis oi aala q page quooiape elos_ , which basically meant piss off or die. Zach took the threat seriously and returned far behind the throne, though his eyes were dark and furious.

Dean had been so focused on the advisor that he’d briefly forgotten the whole reason for being here until the Prince cleared his throat quite loudly. Dean dropped to his knees without an ounce of grace. “Your Highness,” he stammered.

“You can stand,” the Prince said in slightly accented Common Tongue, though it was hard to tell with that voice, which sounded like a horse drawn wagon over ground up stones. “Do you have a petition or an edict for me to consider?”

“Uh, no,” Dean said, flustered. “Wait! Yes! I mean-“ _talk about handsome prince_ “-I want to become a soldier. My name’s Dean... Singer.”

The Prince met his eyes. Gods above, Dean finally understood why they say the House Aegra was descended from angels. If they were any bluer they’d belong only in a story. It was then that Dean craved with all his being to see them at their full glory. He could almost picture it clearly, how the Prince Castiel’s eyes might glimmer and shine when he smiled. Unfortunately, they reflected boredom at that moment. “You need to go the barracks and speak with Uriel.”

“ No,” Dean replied, much steadier now, “I can’t, I’ve tried that.”

The Prince raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

Dean took a deep breath. “Before I lived in Edenish territory, my family was in Lawrence, an outlining village of Purgatory. I squired in the Battle of River Vivivia but I was captured by Edenish knights and brought back here where a blacksmith, Robert Singer, stood for me and took me in.”

“You are not allowed to fight because Uriel knows you were raised in Purgatory and questions your loyalties,” the Prince figured out.

“Basically,” Dean shifted.

Some official looking guy started yelling loudly in Enochian, which lead the Prince to nod. “I’m sorry Dean, but the law states that only citizens of Eden can join, and in the eyes of many you are a prisoner of war.”

“I can fight!” He protested, albeit rashly and with arrogance. “Put me against any of your knights!”

The Prince actually looked almost a little bit guilty. “I am sorry, Dean, I don’t doubt you, but the law is the law.”

Dean wanted to be angry, but he rather enjoyed his freedom, so he didn’t speak his mind. “Thank you, Your Highness,” he muttered with a nod and left his space. Any hope of going home seemed to fade away. Dean would never _truly_ be free in Eden, he was just kidding himself. And maybe he’d find his own way home someday, back to Lawrence and to baby Sammy. He left the throne room and didn’t look back once.

* * *

 

Dean’s mother, the once fair Mary Winchester, died in a house fire when Dean was barely more than a toddler. That day marked the very last of his childhood, and Dean was learning how to swing a sword at the same time most children were finding their own balance. John almost seemed glad to be rid of him when he turned seven winters old, and sent him straight to what was known as the Tower of Hell, where he became a page. Lord Azazel had no sons so the time was spent between him and his knights. They were nice enough, well, most of them didn’t bother him.

The day he turned fifteen was a much brighter occasion, because it meant the servant work was done and Dean could really start to fight. He had been, of course, the top of his class, though John never told Dean that he was proud of him. John Winchester had never liked Azazel, he’d always said there was something wrong about him.

Either way, he’d never forget his Purgatory lessons. Even sitting in the forest now, back against a rotting tree stump and days away from home, he remembered to always be alert. He should never sleep unless his body demanded it and the place was absolutely safe. Dean chewed his salty piece of bread thoughtfully, watching Impala graze. He could always try and ride her home, though his clothes were obviously Edenish and he’d most likely be killed on sight. Even if he did get back, he’d be executed for desertion.

In all truth he didn’t want to go back to Bobby’s as a failure. The thought of it alone was enough to make his stomach turn in small flips. When he’d first come to Eden, and Bobby had appealed for him to be released into his custody, they’d made it no more than a few strides out of the castle before Dean had managed to escape. Back then the whole place was completely alien to him. The way people talked was different, the colours, the clothes, even the music that was flowing through the throne room. That day he’d just run and run until he ended up on the other side of the hill, which was just filled with forest. He’d sat in this very spot, extremely close to actually weeping for home. Bobby had found him before the shadows had even shifted their position. He knew more now, and didn’t make so many rash decisions. He’d adjusted to Edenish customs, anyway, but it would still never be home.

The colour was still off from home, but the whole feel of forests was unchangeable. He preferred the one in Sioux Falls, where he would go to when he needed to be alone and listen to the gentle dropping of water from the small waterfall for hours. They felt so much more _alive_ than these royal ones.

Dean sighed and tossed his mare a small chunk of the bread. She ignored it, making Dean frown, and kept her head up. “What’s wrong, Baby?” She whinnied, trying to pull away from the tree she was tied to. Dean tried to follow her eye line, mares could be smart sometimes. Some guy with a crossbow was perched behind a tree, on a bank of higher ground. Dean shook his head. “Just a hunter Baby, you’ve seen worse.”  

Until, of course, Dean heard a horse like sound that definitely didn’t come from his Baby. Was that guy really going to shoot a wild horse? Dean didn’t have anything left to lose, he reasoned, may as well stop a son of a bitch. He got up and strode silently over the forest floor, which was easy enough at the beginning of summer with little to step on. The bank was just high enough that he would have to climb slightly, though the hunter was not all that alert, and Dean easily managed to sneak up behind him and whack him round the head with the flat of his sword, knocking the man out. As a result, the man released the arrow as a reflex, though it missed its original target as his body twisted, hitting a tree.

It was still enough to spook the horse (whose metallic golden coat caught Dean off guard for a moment), apparently, which threw its rider off its back. Dean jumped down, making to help the guy up, when three other men drew their swords from behind the trees. He realised, then, that they were all wearing armour; _Purgatory armour_. He’d recognise it anywhere. Well, he already had his sword drawn from hitting the first guy. Dean growled as he swirled his arms, feeling that his clothes were too restricting to twist and strike as naturally as he usually could. He felt them rip as he easily drew first blood, striking the closest man across the chest.

 The second man tried to sneak up behind him, but he was not so skilled at walking silently as Dean was. He only needed to twist his upper body to elbow the man square in the face, hearing a satisfying crunching noise in the action. The final guy was opposite him, and Dean wasn’t opposed to playing dirty, so he gave him a hard kick in the nuts before stalking up behind him, putting the man in a headlock. The snap of his bones was an almost satisfying sound when Dean let the body slump to the ground. Damnit, the guy he’d elbowed had run away. Dean could probably chase him, but Impala was tied up and he would lose sight.

“Are you alright?” That voice. Dean recognised it from somewhere.

Dean had forgotten the man he’d decided to protect, having been caught up in the fighting. “It will only be a few bruises.” The man’s features were hidden by an expensive looking beige cloak, so all Dean could see was a messy mop of dark hair. He offered a hand to the kneeling man, who accepted it, though almost reluctantly, and immediately let it go once he was steady on his feet. “You were thrown off your horse, you’re probably worse.”

“No I-“ The man met his eyes and Dean’s breaths became shorter as realisation dawned on him. This wasn’t a man, this was the friggin’ _Prince._ “You were there earlier, in the throne room.”

Dean didn’t know what to do, or what the correct action was for this situation. He hastily bowed, not wanting to get into any serious trouble. “I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

The Prince smiled. His earlier thought had been _so_ right, his happy face could light up the whole damn Kingdom. In an instant Dean almost even forgot that he was meant to be pissed at the guy. “I’m glad we got to meet on better terms, it’s better than me being a distance away on an uncomfortable throne.” Dean realised then, as The Prince squinted, that they’d been holding complete eye contact. “You saved my life,” he concluded almost cautiously.

“It was nothing,” Dean looked down in order to put an end to the uncomfortable staring, “but one of them got away. They were from Purgatory.”

 _His Royal Highness_ exhaled softly. “Good, it may send Azazel a message. I owe you my greatest thanks, Dean-”

“Winchester,” Dean cut in.

The Prince cocked his head to the side. “I thought you said your name was Singer.”

He almost choked. _Whoops_. “I did... that’s what I’m officially called here, but my name has always been Winchester.”

“Dean Winchester,” The Prince sounded out slowly. Those eyes _did_ sparkle. There had been songs written about Aegra eyes for many generations. “Just because your name screams Purgatory, it doesn’t mean you side with them. You should wear it with pride.”

Dean felt his cheeks heat up, but any deeper into this conversation and he’d get very uncomfortable very quickly. “Does your horse always get spooked so easily?”

The slender stallion, whose fur seemed to gleam the brightest gold under the sun, had returned to his owner. “He’s fine usually, he must had just been caught off guard. He’s not what you’d call a war horse.”

This entire exchange was growing gradually more and more awkward. “Are you sure you’re okay? He’s huge.”

The Prince looked over himself. “I’ve had worse from training in the barracks... Wait, didn’t you say earlier that you wanted to be a soldier?”

“Uh, yeah?”

He chewed his slightly plump under lip, as if he wanted to say something. It was as if he was having a whole debate inside his head. “I can’t just make you a soldier; too many people would find an issue with it. But, you saved my life, which means nobody can argue with giving you a small reward. And say you asked for the right to, maybe, compete in the next tourney against some of the most renowned knights, assuming you did well then nobody could disagree that you didn’t earn your right as at least a simple foot soldier. But I didn’t _give_ you that suggestion, Dean Winchester; you thought it up on your own.”

“Sire-“

He rolled his eyes. “Please don’t bother with that, I like my name.”  

“Castiel, I- you sure?”

The Prince- no, _Castiel_ , grinned warmly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Dean.”

Without saying another word, he remounted his stallion and galloped off somewhere, presumably to the palace. Dean was in shock, perhaps he wasn’t a lost cause. He could do that, Bobby made swords enough for him to swing around in practice. He had _trained_ for this for almost all of his childhood. From behind the tree line he’d climbed over, his Baby made a soft noise. Back down the hill, then. At least the exercise was good for her.

“Thank you,” Dean said to the open air.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean's horse is based off a black Friesian mare
> 
> Castiel's horse is bassed off a golden Akhal Teke stallion


	3. Castiel ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to Chuck I'm not usually this bad at updating, whoops. I did have writers block and am currently finishing a 20k+ fic, so there shouldn't be a 3 month update gap again. Apologies!

Without Gabriel’s laughter and constant teasing filling its halls, the castle felt hollow and empty. Even Anna’s childish giggles had disappeared, because she had _friends_ now. Despite all the extra responsibilities, now that he was in charge, yet he found himself more bored than ever before. Following the attempted attack a cycle ago, Zachariah had pretty much forced two guards on him at all times.

Ever since he could confidently ride horses, Castiel managed to almost lose track of days on the back of Talundonveh. He’d owned Tal ever since his twelfth birthday. Back then, his golden stallion was just one summer old, sent by an old ally in Moondoor, the furthest kingdom in the known west. He couldn’t ride him for a few seasons, but the first time he had was definitely a far cry from learning to ride on an old mare.

Alas, it seemed he could no longer ride Tal like that. The rush of the wind in his face and galloping so fast it felt like flying? Apparently that was too reckless in such a dire situation. It meant his alone time didn’t feel so alone. It was disconcerting, always having two figures behind you out of the corner of your eye. He’d also been ‘advised’ (also known as made) to avoid the forest, so he was just riding along the tree line. His slow pace allowed him to gaze at the newly bloomed green leaves. All it did was remind him of the man who had saved his life – _Dean Winchester_.  

Castiel had known, by the way he’d shifted and paused, that ‘Singer’ wasn’t his real name. That, and his own memories. Dean had looked so different then, just a bloody and broken Purgatory boy. That was what he’d really meant when he’d told him that he was glad they got to meet under better circumstances. Castiel felt a phantom pain in his own eye, briefly remembering one of the guards kick the young squire in the face until Gabriel finally yelled enough. He shifted uncomfortably on his horse, but that didn’t stop him from rehearing the broken ‘ _please_ ’ directed straight at him.

“Your Highness!” The guard’s voice startled Castiel. “We’ve ridden quite far, and it’s getting dark.”

He sighed. “Bartholomew, I haven’t had a bedtime since I was ten summers old.”

Castiel didn’t look at him, but was pretty sure the guard pulled a face. “I mean no disrespect, sire, but Zachariah said we need to be on high alert, and the night is full of dangers.”

“Isn’t your job not to avoid those dangers but to defeat them?” Still, Castiel gave a soft pull on his reigns in order to command Tal to turn around. The sooner Gabriel returned, the better. Castiel frowned to himself. His older brother hadn’t sent a crow for two cycles, not even to tell him that they had a safe journey. It wasn’t unlike Gabriel to be forgetful, even slightly irresponsible at times, but never truly inconsiderate. Perhaps Castiel was worrying too much. He couldn’t help it, though. He’d never gone to battle, every time one seemed to happen he’d been called too young, though he knew people much younger than he was were fighting, so with no reason to venture more than half a day’s ride away from the secure walls of the city Castiel simply hadn’t seen anything else. The only different land he’d seen was Purgatory when he was just seven summers old. He’d read books, of course, and gazed at maps, but in truth he had no idea what lay beyond Eden. He would feel more secure if he was able to picture where Gabriel was.

If Castiel had been alone, the ride back to the castle would have been completed before the sun even completely set. At this forced slow pace, the moon was shining in the sky by the time he’d made it up the stairs to his rooms, still followed closely by guards. By all means he should be tired, as he had been constantly for a whole moon cycle. His boredom, though, had turned itself into energy. Castiel lay on his bed, tossing and turning and unable to sink comfortably into sleep. He eventually ended up sprawled diagonally across the sheets, staring at the ceiling. Assuming he was nervous about the tournament, he ran through every plan he’d had to make in his head, just in case he’d missed something. Of course he hadn’t.

Giving up seemed like the best option. Castiel slid up and walked towards his bookshelf. He only kept his favourite books there; the rest went in the more than substantial library. Running his fingers across the carefully crafted spines, he chose a book he hadn’t read for summers and winters both. It was the one exception to his ‘no fiction’ rule, for Naomi had once confirmed it was just a story, whereas legends _could_ be true. _For my youngest son_ , said the symbols in loose translation. Castiel traced over the immaculate handwriting, Enochian made into art. There was a portrait in one of the corridors, along with others of the Aegra line, painted as a gift just a cycle after Anna was born and presented to Eden. It wasn’t as if Castiel couldn’t ever see his mother’s face, not that he had much desire to, anyway. They’d had a professional relationship, from what he could remember. They had been as close as a mother and son needed to be – expected to be - and no closer. Still, it saddened him that he could barely picture her actual face.

It was actually harder than one would have thought to trace Naomi’s history back before she married into House Aegra. Still, Castiel had been interested and stubborn before he had to learn any actual responsibilities. As it turned out, Naomi had come from a family nearly as old and powerful as the Aegras. Just after she arrived, there was an all out rebellion in the West, which led to Moondoor eventually becoming the Capitol and main power. He wasn’t there and so couldn’t be the best judge, but Castiel guessed Naomi’s coldness may have been because his father had mostly ignored the war instead of lending support.

Castiel remembered, just after the last royal pregnancy had been announced, how Naomi had given him the book. _It is very old_ , she had warned, _my father gave it to me as a wedding present before I came here_. At six summers old he was still learning to read properly, and so struggled to make out what the message actually said. It was one of the few moments Naomi, his mother, had smiled at him and read the message aloud.

“But mama? How do you know it won’t be a little boy?” Castiel all but whispered outside his memory world.

 _I can feel it when I place my hand over her. I have always wanted a daughter. I never imagined I would get the chance after birthing you. She will be called Anael._ Naomi had smiled down at her swollen stomach. _I think she will be a spirited one already. You were much easier to carry, Castiel._ She mumbled something in her mother tongue, something he’d never heard her speak before.

Castiel closed his eyes and held the book against his chest. The last time he’d read it was when he was thirteen summers old and that was only to translate the words into Enochian, not to appreciate the story. It seemed almost pointless, his last candle had almost burnt out and he needed his rest. Still, he couldn’t resist turning the pages.

It was a story about three young adventures; Balata (Justice), Teloah Congamphlgh (Pride) and Zylna Noco (Greed). Justice was notably older than the other two in both body and soul, though did not demand complete leadership. Instead, he let Pride and Greed do as they wished and speak up whenever he tried to make a decision. The worst thing about the story, Castiel thought, was how there was no reason behind this adventure, the book started halfway in and didn’t explain much of what had happened before it. On their journey, Justice, Pride and Greed met their fair share of troubles, including their ship getting attacked by the Pirate Queen and a nasty encounter with a pack of werewolves. Every time an obstacle was passed, Greed disappeared for a night and a day. Justice finally brought up the issue after he discovered the central fangs of the vampire they’d just killed were missing.

Greed wasn’t as smart as he was selfish. He immediately admitted to using the monsters and his companions as a way to get ingredients for one of his most ambitious spells yet. Pride insisted he was lying, but Justice could see the truth in his eyes. Because he was kind, Greed was released alone with a small piece of flatbread and a half full water skin. Pride began to blame Justice for every misfortune they’d come across during the journey, even when it was blatantly his own fault. Justice grew very tired of this but was a strong believer in freedom of speech and did not dismiss Pride. Eventually the other man left anyway, calling Justice an unworthy partner. Summers later Greed and Pride both returned in an alliance together. Justice was good and fair and wise and calmly tried to reason with them both, but they simply ignored him and transformed his body to reflect his soul, so he had the frail body of an elderly man. Justice was left to the sands of the desert, but was unable to find his way home and so faded away into nothing.

The moral of the story was an easy one: life isn’t fair and justice doesn’t overcome the evils of other men. It was actually an incredibly sinister bedtime story, but Castiel understood why it was a wedding present, and the last lesson Naomi ever had the chance to teach him. Not that it particularly stuck with him, he was rather fond of Justice as a character. Castiel closed the book after taking one last glance at the colourful illustrations.

When he next opened his eyes, the birds were singing their dawn song. He longed to close his eyes again. Apparently his sleep had been restless. The old book was still pressed closed against his chest. There were preparations to approve and guests to greet and a brutally early tournament to oversee. It wouldn’t get interesting till the last few rounds; the first few were just the best fighters knocking out the amateurs. Not that Castiel found any of it that entertaining; violence for sport with a war going on seemed pointless. Gabriel himself only kept it running for the women the event brought into the city with it.

Castiel dressed himself in the finest (also the scratchiest) clothes he could find that would still allow for the summer heat. His cloak was beige and blue, the Aegra colours, and his obligatory coronet, which was a simple silver ring – minimal decoration at his own choosing. He was just splashing his face with water when a knock echoed around the room.

“We’re here to escort you and The Princess Anael to the Fighting Arena, Sire.”

He felt not so different from a prisoner. It was definitely a relief to see Anna, her radiance overshadowing Castiel’s misery. His heart ached, she looked more like a woman than the sweet child he’d known for thirteen summers. She smiled at him moments into their escorted walk and took his hand.

“Are you alright, Castiel? You’ve been so busy recently.” She paused. “This day will be good for you.”

“I hope so,” Castiel admitted. “The conversation will probably tire me further.” He disliked this; their interaction was so stiff and formal. It was unnatural.

Anna walked with her head held high. “I’m hoping the winner gives me his favour.”

He felt his face relax. “I have no doubt, but there are some seasoned knights competing, and few are what you would call _handsome_ , I promise.”

The Fighting Arena would not be so well maintained if it wasn’t used as an unofficial extension of the Barracks. Tournaments were rare because of the war, and were therefore sparse other than when in use for training. It, like most of the original city, was ancient looking. When slavery was around, many generations ago, there were fights to the death every quarter cycle. It was open to all in those days, gold only for securing seats with a good view. It, therefore, had to be a very large structure to accommodate so many people. Although the arena wasn’t exactly close to the castle, sometimes the noise still travelled there.

Castiel smiled through the mandatory greetings. There could have been one hundred polite handshakes, all faceless men with faceless women on their arm, some young enough to be their daughters. The sun was piercing and scalding on the crowd, where there was no shade. Castiel was incredibly thankful for his position in the box for once.

The tournament was introduced. It was a boring affair really, just the same old gushing about kingdom and community and whatever else. He was itching to just clap his hands and start the fighting. Deep down, Castiel understood the importance of the tournament. Whilst Eden was rich, they were in the middle of a long war and they’d had to cut their spending wherever they could. Castiel vaguely remembered a time where not only fights but theatre and music used to take place in the arena, rather than military training. Eden needed this for moral, and since spectating was free half the kingdom had shown up in excitement. After all, it was only an event that happened once a summer.

It was largely the same as the summer before, and the summer before that too. So many people entered (as they did not need to be high born) that the heats alone took two or three days. The competition only became slightly interesting around the semi-finals, and because he was Regent, Castiel had to spectate the entire thing.

It was a mystery how he managed to get through it to be honest, considering his nights were restless. After the pleasantries of the first day, Castiel found himself with little company at all. Anna had run off somewhere, presumably to socialise or even to avoid the competition all together. He found himself falling asleep, especially without the cold to keep him alert, his general boredom and the fact he hadn’t been sleeping well.

“My lord!” He heard Zachariah bark.

“Yes?” He mumbled, eyes still closed.

“Sire,” a voice he wasn’t all the familiar with said, “I came to ask for the competitor I should promote.”

Oh yes, the betting. Castiel failed to find the fun in handing over hard owned money that may or may not bring you success. He had no interest in who would actually win. “May I hear the names?”

The bet collector cleared his throat. “Last year’s winner; Lord Gordon of House Walker, Sir Tamiel of House Bialo, Sir Jeremiah of House Iasa and-“ he paused, “a commoner, sire.”

Castiel sat up in his chair. “Does he have a name?”

He swallowed. “Singer’s boy, your Highness, Dean Singer.”

His eyes widened at the name. Dean actually did it? And got this far? Castiel felt a rush of second hand pride, which was ridiculous considering he’d only actually met the man once. Of course, Castiel had seen Dean fight and he’d done it well, but he hadn’t been the best or most refined fighter Castiel had ever seen, though Dean did mention he’d been a squire many years ago. Going by what he could grasp from the man’s personality, Castiel wasn’t truly that shocked. Dean Singer (Winchester?) had a heart of determination and wore it with pride.

“I choose Dean.”

“Are you sure, my lord? Statistically Sir Gordon has been performing the best.”

Zachariah waved him off. “Everybody likes an underdog, for now. Keep their interest for this round and whether he is knocked out or not, turn their attention to Sir Gordon for the finale.”

To Castiel’s slight pleasure, the collector looked at him. “My lord?”

“Zachariah knows more than I, listen to his suggestion.”

The collector bowed his head and walked away, presumably into the stands. Castiel made sure to force his eyes open, with hope that Dean might actually win. He swallowed, thinking over that eventuality. He’d almost actually promised that he’d get Dean a position in the army. Overruling Uriel wouldn’t be a huge issue, he was Regent, but there could be a problem with his treatment, considering he was technically a prisoner.

Dean’s first fight was boring and over pretty quickly. Castiel found himself leaning forward and paying extra attention. Just trying to get a grasp of his fighting technique. Dean was unrefined, rough around the edges, and had the wrong stance and grip. By Edenish standards, on paper, he’d be terrible. He did, however, make up for it in force and cunning. He fought with the intention of putting on a show. In fact, Dean had disarmed Sir Tamiel in mere moments in comparison to the other fights.

Castiel worried. Gordon, too, played dirty. He found himself wincing the whole way during his semi-final, more so when he saw the injury Sir Jerimiah bore. They were in the middle of a war, they couldn’t waste metal on blunted blades for entertainment. That, and apparently the danger made the event all the more entertaining. Sir Jeremiah didn’t appear to be injured terribly, but he’d be out of commission for a few days at the least.

Both Dean and Gordon knelt down in front of Castiel, swords laid on the ground, as was standard procedure. Castiel didn’t need to say anything, though Gabriel usually did. Instead, he opted to simply nod his head once instead, commencing the fight. He felt his chest flutter when Dean bent down to pick up his sword, showing off his muscles. Castiel was unfamiliar with the sensation, and could only compare it with nerves.

The fight began with Gordon attacking first, Dean on the defence. If anything, Dean had more than decent footwork, able to block and dodge with ease. There was a lot of repetition of jabbing and blocking until Gordon took a risk and took a swing at Dean’s knees. He appeared to have anticipated the move, and jumped clean over the sword.

Taking an opportunity, Dean hit Gordon’s chest with the flat of his blade, knocking him back a few steps. This angered Gordon, giving him the adrenaline to hit and jab and thrust more frequently. It was only when Dean visibly taunted him that Castiel realised Dean was playing with him, barely even attempting to disarm, even though he’d had a few opportunities. Although Castiel had a strong dislike for Lord Gordon, his swordsmanship skills were unquestionable. All it took was for Dean to get too cocky before Gordon managed to slice him clean across the shoulder before taking hold of it from behind and, Castiel closed his eyes at the sound, dislocated it.

The air was tense for a moment and it was obvious that Gordon was the victor, until Dean came to his senses and elbowed Gordon in the throat. Swapping sword arms, Dean began to all-out attack, which to his credit was over quickly. Gordon had been off guard and his sword was out of his hand before he really had a chance to defend himself. Castiel hadn’t really paid attention to how it had happened, having been distracted by Dean. He looked so confident, and the sweat from the sun suited him.

The crowd began to cheer and scream Dean’s name, though Castiel would assume most of them had never seen his face before. Gordon, rather out of character, bowed his head and left the arena without creating a fuss, though he didn’t shake Dean’s hand. Dean looked fazed by the crowd, and, for the first time, weary. He absent mindedly reached round and pushed his shoulder back into place.

“Your highness,” he knelt.

Castiel bit his lip. His eyes shone in the beautiful day like the brightest green leaf from his most delicious apple tree. Gods, Castiel was selfish, but it was decided. This was a good thing, he convinced himself. “You may rise, Dean Singer. You have achieved much today, and for that you should be proud. You are the first competitor in this tournament’s short history that has won without formal Edenish training, so I must reward you further. I will offer you a position in the royal household, as my personal guard.”

The gasps from the spectators and Dean’s glare of horror and confusion made Castiel realise in an instant that he’d made a terrible mistake. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: next chapter is where the depressing begins, brace yourselves

**Author's Note:**

> Aegra means Angel of the earth 
> 
> The language that Castiel and others is speaking is /supposedly/ actual Enochian. Unfortunately, I'm not quite fluent in the language and so am relying on a mixture of an online translator and a dictionary.
> 
> I apologise in advance that my writing schedule (due to the exam period) is anything but regular. I will try to update this as much as possible, but it should definitely pick up in a few weeks time. I estimate that this fic will total to 100,000-200,000 words in completion, so you're in for a long ride!


End file.
